Compulsion
by ClaireBamboozle
Summary: For me it has always been about the blood. Watching it flowing thick and crimson takes me somewhere else, to my happy place and lately I've been euphoric. Part one was my entry for the Journey into Dark and Twisted TwiFic contest, I was delighted to win joint second place judges vote, goriest award and it was personal pic for two of the six judges. Expanded to a three part story.
1. Chapter 1

**This was my entry to Journey into Dark and Twisted Twific contest. I was delighted to win joint second place in the judges vote, goriest award and it was personal pick for two of the six judges. **

**It has since been expanded to a three part story, chapters two and three will post sometime over the next week or so.  
**

**Special thanks to my pre reader, Keye Cullen and my beta, Rita01TX, these ladies are the power behind my words. You ladies rock my world. **

**WARNING:- This story is dark and twisted, there will be character death, please don't read on if that will be a problem for you. **

**Disclaimer:-I don't own Twilight or the original characters, this is for fun, no copywrite infringement is intended.**

**Compulsion **

**Chapter one.  
**

_Fuck! _

Watching Edward take a long hard drag on his cigarette while his hands and chest were still daubed with fresh blood was the most erotic thing I'd seen in a long time. I could smell the damned thing, of course. It's aroma familiar and tempting, pulling me in. Just seeing the way his lips pursed on the filter while his cheeks hollowed out to suck the hot smoke into his lungs had an effect on me. He shivered, feeling the instant, calming relief flood through his system. His eyes slid half-way closed and his jaw flexed as the tension ebbed from his body. It was a habit I'd managed to quit three years ago but, on nights like this, it was so much harder to fight the urge to reach across and light one up.

He glanced down at himself and raised an eyebrow as he ran the blood-stained fingers of his free hand over his freshly shaven chest and down to his abdomen. His fingers left a trail of swirly red patterns over his smooth flesh. I was touched by his concern when he made sure to blow out the huge puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth, taking special care to twist his head and aim it away from me. He knows it wouldn't take much to get me to start up again. He smirked when he realized I was staring. I couldn't help myself; it was so sensual, seeing how the precious, crimson fluid smeared across his pale skin. I'm fascinated by how it clings to the lines of his body, sticky and glistening in the sickly yellow lamplight. He reeked of it…blood and smoke, a mixture of death and passion. He was magnificent. I felt myself getting hard just looking at him. Not because of his nakedness. His body is my body, there's nothing to excite me there. It's the blood. For me it has always been about the blood.

"Stop looking like you want one. You know these things'll kill you," he said, ignoring both my eyes and my growing erection. Instead, he took another drag before flicking the ash from the tip. I watched it drift down to settle on the plastic sheeting with which we'd carefully covered the floor.

"We've all gotta go some way," I mumbled. He started to peel the polythene sheets from the walls and my eyes flickered momentarily to the woman in the bathtub, her wrist draped over the edge. Long red nails and the way her fingers were curled made her hand look like a claw. I tried to remember her name and drew a blank. It was something foreign-sounding with a K…Kemi or Kebi, possibly. I wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. She didn't need a name anymore. She was just another crime statistic now. I felt a jolt of excitement in anticipation of her obligatory appearance on the news. Edward threw the sheeting to the floor before slipping into the bathroom and turning on the shower. He ran a finger along her arm as he strolled past before scratching his naked ass, leaving a smear of red across one cheek.

Ke…, whatever her name was, would be reported as a woman last seen leaving a club after talking to a tall blonde stranger with thick stubble and a full sleeve of ink before checking into a hotel room alone, only to be found dead and mysteriously drained the next day. I watched him check the gashes in her neck and stomach before stepping into the shower and letting the hot spray wash the evidence of our depraved compulsions and his cigarette butt down the drain. Speaking of draining, she was emptying nicely. It wouldn't be long until we could make the switch without too much mess. I let my hand fall to my engorged cock and allowed myself a couple of firm strokes up and down its length. I couldn't risk ejaculating in case a rogue droplet landed on the now uncovered wall or lampshade, but I could afford a couple of minutes to bring myself down from my high. As far as I knew, no one ever died from masturbationus interruptus. Yeah, I just made that shit up.

I moved my hand languidly and let my mind drift, remembering back to the hook-up.

I'd arrived at the club early, checking the crowd for what we needed. Not that we were ever very choosy. Female was the main requirement. She didn't need to fit a specific profile. We weren't particularly angry with blondes or redheads. It didn't need to be someone who reminded us of an abusive relative. That shit was just creepy. Besides, we were lucky. Both our childhoods, although separate, had been as close to idyllic as you could get. The fact we didn't stick with any particular "type" worked in our favor. Seven murders across seven different states and no one had connected them...yet.

While I sipped my sparkling water through the short straw I'd brought with me, I scoped around for the woman who would be tonight's star performer. Edward was already in the theater, watching a performance of Cats. I checked my watch, knowing it had to be close to intermission time. He would be visiting the bar, making sure to trip and spill his drink on someone before the second half started. He needed to hand them my business card and insist they send him the dry cleaning bill. It was vital he was seen and remembered by as many people as possible. He was providing my alibi.

It was hot in the club and my wig itched like a bitch but I ignored the urge to scratch my head. I didn't want any of the security cameras to pick up on it moving. I wasn't going to all this trouble to make such an amateur error. My hands were already sweating under the thin latex gloves. The powder on the inside did little to absorb my perspiration but, in the poor light they didn't look obvious the way leather ones would. I could ignore the discomfort. I choose, instead, to focus on the bubbling excitement in my gut.

This part of the scheme was always deliciously empowering. For the next half hour or so, I was God, wielding the ultimate power of life or death over anyone in the club unfortunate enough to catch my eye. I adjusted my position on my stool for comfort as I felt a shiver of almost sexual excitement at the anticipation of making my selection.

I spotted her, wobbling and slightly unfocussed after drinking a little too much. The red and blue flashing lights painted her in ghastly hues. She seemed to be alone. I guessed her to be older than me by ten, maybe twelve years. No rings and no indentation or tan marks hinted where one might regularly sit. Low cut top, too short skirt and slut shoes made it obvious. She was a cougar on the prowl for a younger man.

Well, tonight she was going to hit the jackpot with two energetic young bucks for the price of one.

I'd booked the cheap hotel room and Broadway show tickets months ago, being careful to use my real name. I didn't employ smoke and mirrors. I preferred to hide in plain sight. It tested my intellect and added to the thrill. Google helped immensely, allowing me to view layouts of the floors of the hotel and even to check out the exterior. I chose the hotel carefully. The rooms at the rear had fire escapes with balconies connecting three lots of rooms together. Best of all, there was no security camera in the alley running along the back. I made sure to request a room without a view, explaining how I was traveling alone and only needed a bed to crash for the night after taking in a show. It worked like a charm and I was allocated a nice, quiet room facing a brick wall at the rear of the building.

Two days after receiving the confirmation with my room number, Edward made a trip out of town to send a typed letter to the hotel. He booked the adjoining numbered room for two nights in the name of Mr. J. Black, explaining it was to be a surprise anniversary treat, since that was the very room where the Blacks first spent a night together. How lovely…an evening revisiting the flea pit with a view of the dumpster where you first bumped uglies. Even I was more romantic than that and I'm nefarious. A cash payment was enclosed, together with a request to confirm the room was available via text message to a cell phone, unregistered of course. Heaven forbid they tip off Mrs. Black to the booking and spoil the surprise.

This was pivotal to the plan and waiting for the reply gave us a nerve wracking three-day wait. If the message said "no can do," the whole scenario would have to be aborted and a fresh city and hotel selected.

Yesterday, I made a call to the hotel to confirm they were fully booked and, on my way to the club tonight, I made another call from a public pay phone posing as Mr. Black. I cancelled our second booking with an apology for wasting their time and requested they keep the payment since it was such short notice.

I was so lucky to have found Edward. We were a perfect team…two sides of the same twisted coin. He was the ruthless butcher who thrilled in the savagery of the kill, needing to feel the rush of power being in control gave him as he drained a life force. He was always the one to draw the blade. However, his eagerness made him sloppy. I was the brains, the voyeur, the one who preferred to watch and the one who knew how to cover our tracks.

It was funny how we had developed such similar tendencies and quirks, a clear example of nature winning out over nurture. We grew up a hundred miles apart and while Edward was finding himself by strangling cats and dissecting live frogs, I was fascinated by the grotesqueness of death. I picked up road kill, preserving the specimens in their twisted final death throes. My adopted parents quickly labeled my morbid curiosity as an interest in science and the early signs that might one day lead me to a career as a surgeon or a veterinarian. I scoff at their naivety. They were even happy for me to keep my formaldehyde-soaked freak show on a shelf in my bedroom.

When puberty came along and masturbating to the macabre images wasn't quite doing it for me, I slowly realized it was the lack of blood. My collection was all clean and yellowed in their fluid-filled jars but I needed to see the thick, red substance and, if it was flowing, then that was even better. It was why I started to cut myself…my legs, mainly. I knew scars on the forearms were hard to cover up and quickly drew unwanted attention. Only those who were crying for help chose that spot. I wasn't depressed…quite the opposite, I was euphoric. I could shrug off marks on my legs as injuries from falling off a bike or slipping out of a tree and I could hide them under clothing easy enough, too. The other benefit of choosing my legs was their proximity to my cock. I could see the blood oozing while I watched my hand move and, when I climaxed, the red and the white combined to give me a high which lasted for hours.

I never lost it, that draw to the red stuff. It was my Sword of Damocles. The one thing I worshiped and lived for and the one thing which could eventually bring me down. I knew I would always need it in my life so I channeled my career in that direction. I wasn't interested in becoming a surgeon. It wouldn't have allowed me the freedom to indulge. I would need to be focused on stitching and saving. That held no appeal. I wanted time to revel and enjoy. Crime scene investigator was ideal. I got to visit the murder scenes, often with the victim still there. I was asked to photograph and sometimes I was allowed to touch. No one cared how long I stared or how close I got. It was all part of the job…gathering evidence, working the story backwards from the murder. Catching a killer by a single strand of hair or a fiber from his car seat only happened on TV.

I knew every trick in the book. Besides, if I hadn't chosen this job, I never would have met Edward.

Four years ago, I was called to a murder scene. A maid at a sleazy motel upstate had made a gruesome discovery when she let herself in to clean room 101. My lips twitched with the irony. I wondered if the killer realized the Orwellian connection when he chose… Who am I kidding? Of course he did. It was the room number I would have selected, too.

My mind doesn't work like my colleagues. They are disgusted by the depravity we witness, balancing the horror with a drive to catch the perpetrators. I am more in awe of them since they do what I never had the courage to do. They live the dream.

The cop on the door grimaced as he pulled back the tape and let us through. My eyes quickly scanned the room. The woman lay draped across the bed. Deep, frenzied gashes glistened wetly around her throat and all over her torso. I knew from the pattern of the spray on the walls that she'd been killed on the bed and not displayed there afterwards. Red marks on her wrists and ankles showed she'd fought fiercely against restraints. Her jaw was wide open, indicating a possible gag had been used to silence her screams. He certainly would've needed something to keep the noise down. These places weren't known for the soundproofing in the walls.

I started to photograph, officially for the case, but partly for my perusal later. Close-ups of this mystery man's work were essential. No two murderers are ever alike. Some are precise, calculated, leaving clean wounds and little evidence. Some use brute strength, strangling or suffocating their victim. Others are crazies who revel in the chaos, bludgeoning and leaving as much mess as possible. Those are the cases I look forward to the most, the ones with drenched walls and ceilings, and blood-stained weapons. Regardless of their style, they are all artists to me, each one leaving unique brushstrokes on their canvas.

After taking close to a hundred photographs, I was ready to put the camera away. As I left the room and crossed the parking lot, I glanced at the small group of gawking gore hounds who'd already gathered by the police tape to see if they could catch a glimpse of the victim. I smirked. They would love to be in my shoes with a front row seat to the spectacle. There was one guy at the end who caught my eye. He stood a few feet away from the main group and seemed nervous, clenching his fists repeatedly and pacing back and forth. He wasn't looking at me. His eyes were fixed on room 101. I don't know how I knew, but I did. It wasn't nerves he was suffering from, it was excitement. He was the one. It was his work I was cataloging. Taking a second to squint against the sun, I focused solely on him and almost dropped my camera in shock.

It was me! My face…my body…my double!

He wasn't looking in my direction. Then again, in my shapeless white suit and mask, I was hardly noteworthy. I was torn between running over to him and running away. Who was he? I'd always known I'd been adopted as a small child and, while my upbringing had been safe and nurturing, I didn't have particularly close bonds with my adoptive family. I never felt the need to look up my birth details, either. Having a family didn't hold any strong appeal. As long as I was okay, I didn't see the point in complicating my life by having extra people around. But now, I was burning to know if this man who wears my face and feels as drawn to blood as I do might, in some way, be related to me.

I didn't breathe a word of it to anyone, not even about the used condom I found discarded under the bed. He might be driven but he was careless. Something like that could convict him. I should've bagged it, but my need to know was greater. Instead, I slipped it into my pocket and discreetly arranged a DNA test against a sample of my own.

It was a match. He wasn't just my brother, he was my identical twin.

I spent the next couple of months researching my background and, sure enough, I was one of a pair of identical twins, each of us adopted by different parents. His name was Edward and, once I uncovered the name of his adopted parents, I started tracking him down.

I watched his apartment on and off over three days, taking the chance to observe him without his knowledge. Like most people, he had a routine. Every morning, he walked a block to buy a paper and coffee. He had a day job as a chef in an Italian restaurant. He even had a pooch. He oozed normality. No one else would raise an eyebrow, except perhaps to question why such a good looking guy was still single. But I knew the monster that lurked beneath his surface. Here was a man who worked with knives for a living yet the jagged savagery with which he wielded them on his victim showed his self-control was holding on by a thread. The bruises around the cuts told me of the force he used as he pounded the blade into the woman's flesh.

I wondered how to introduce myself. "Hello, Edward. I'm Masen, your twin brother. I haven't seen you since you were three months old. Oh, and by the way, I know you're a homicidal maniac. But don't worry…I have the same obsession, so your secret is safe with me."

Maybe not.

In the end, I simply walked up to his front door and rang the bell. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped when he saw me standing there. It was the same reaction I'd had when I saw him for the first time and, for a second, my confidence dipped as I wondered if he even knew he'd been adopted. I held the file of papers out for him to take and he cautiously flicked through the pages.

Sitting on Edward's couch while he made me coffee was surreal. I glanced around and was surprised to see how similar our tastes were. He kept it as minimal as I did. There were few things I had any real attachment to. I didn't feel the need to keep souvenirs of my past. It was all just stuff and, when I died, it would only be left behind to fill up a dumpster.

"So, Masen," he chuckled, his eyes not smiling in the slightest. I knew the expression well. It was the same one I used to be polite to the people who bored me. "How did you manage to track me down?"

"I work for the cops." I let the words hang in the air, watching for his reaction. He might be my blood, but he was still a stranger and a killer. He faltered, but didn't let the serenity of his mask slip.

"Cop? Wow! That must be an interesting job." He spooned some sugar into his cup and stirred it around slowly, his fingers gripping the handle of the spoon tightly.

"Umm, I'm Homicide, actually." I paused, my eyes fixed on him. The next line could make or break of our meeting. I kept my tone even and almost sounded disinterested as I said, "I saw you at room 101."

His head whipped up, unsure if this was a trap. Through the clarity of his green eyes, I could see his brain whirling at a hundred miles an hour, confusion, anger and panic all jostling for the upper hand. I gave him some time to cogitate while I took a sip of my drink.

"You're very sloppy. I found the condom under the bed. That's how I made the DNA match."

He was stunned to realize I'd found crucial evidence. Suddenly having to get rid of an annoying, long lost twin was the least of his worries.

"What did you do with it? The condom, I mean." He tried to sound casual but I knew he was desperate to know.

"Relax. I won't turn you in." He sat back on the sofa but still looked suspicious and quite rightly so. It's not every day you come across someone who doesn't turn a hair when they find out you've butchered someone, probably for no good reason. I downed the rest of my drink.

"Was she your first?" He raised an eyebrow. This was clearly not a conversation he'd ever expected to have with anyone. The fact that I knew his secret must've made him feel a compulsion to finally release his dark secret into the open air.

"No…I've done it once before. I buried a body in the woods. It hasn't been found, yet." He chewed on his lip, not sure if he was doing the right thing but, on the other hand, almost relieved to share the burden. I wondered why he buried the first victim but chose to leave the second one exposed. Did he feel a wave of shame or regret the first time that drove him to conceal what he'd done? Did his confidence in his convictions grow so quickly it allowed him to showcase to the world what he was capable of the second time round? Or was he just lying?

"Who was she?" I wanted to gauge the depth of his depravity and wondered if she was someone he knew well, or whether she was a random pick up.

"They were both hookers." He shuffled in his seat. Maybe he thought I'd judge him for his choice in victims. I wouldn't of course. I have no compunction over how he gets his kicks.

"It must be quite a feeling." Did he pick up on the wistful look in my expression, or the awe in my tone? I didn't know, but he sensed something as he slowly opened up to me and I to him. It poured out from me. A lifetime of repressing and concealing my true nature released instantly, like gas from a shaken soda can. I'd never felt so liberated or alive. We talked all afternoon. Neither of us knew much about our family history or why we shared this fascination with death and blood. Could it be ingrained in our psyche from an unknown relative, a special trait we'd inherited, or perhaps we'd been vampires in a past life? Who knew? One thing was certain; it gave us a special bond, one transcending mere DNA and bloodlines. I left his apartment knowing I could trust Edward with my life. More than that, I knew I'd do whatever it took to protect him, too.

So, that was how I came to be stalking across the sticky carpet of a dingy night club like a lion, about to ask a stranger to follow me like a lamb to the slaughter. Edward and I had all-consuming compulsions which drove us to kill. Although I would probably never have the guts to do it myself, I got off on watching him. Being identical twins made it all the better. I could watch the act as if it were me carrying it out, like some bizarre form of morbid Candaulism. The victim might not be my sexual partner, but I was exposing her to Edward for his pleasure and reaping my own from watching him take her in the most permanent of ways.

"Hey, sugar," I crooned into her ear when I finally made it to her side. "How would you like being my fantasy tonight?"

"Fantasy" being the operative word. I could barely contain my excitement at her obliviousness.

"Angel!" she squealed as she looked me up and down with her booze-soaked eyes, her face lighting up as if she liked what she saw. "I'll be your sugar any time."

_No, you'll be my sugar one time. _I slid an arm around her shoulders, being careful to keep my gloved hand out of sight and gently, but firmly, steered her towards the exit.

She stopped to rummage in her purse then squinted to make out the numbers in the poor light. "Let me just send my son a message so he knows I'm not coming home tonight."

_Shit!_ A son. The image of a young toddler with chubby cheeks and a wide grin filled my mind. I faltered.

"How old is he?" She instantly looked embarrassed and defensive as she stuffed the phone back in her bag.

"Um, twenty-one. Does it matter?"

An adult. Relief washed over me.

"Not anymore. Tell me; what's your name, sugar?" I grinned and her expression softened again. Just to make sure, I ran a finger along the back of her arm and felt her shiver.

"Kebi, Kebi Amun. What's yours?"

"I'm James Hunter." She smiled and slipped her arm around my waist.

"Where are we going?" she asked hesitantly as I moved us through the streets towards the hotel.

She was starting to feel uneasy. I spun her to face me and pulled her in for a kiss. It had to be passionate and convincing enough to blow away the last shreds of her reservations. I snaked an arm around her waist, holding her flush against my chest as my lips moved against hers and I felt her start to yield. Only when her hands began to slide up towards my neck did I pull back, not wanting her to find out too soon that my mane of blonde hair wasn't real.

"Here, sugar," I said, handing her a hundred dollars. "See that hotel over there? Why don't you book us a room and I'll get some champagne from the store to make this a perfect night."

"Sure, just don't keep me waiting too long," she giggled, spinning off towards the hotel. I watched from across the street as she stood in the lobby and handed over the cash for a key. I already knew the room number. There was only one possible room available; the one the Blacks had cancelled an hour ago. Even so, I needed to be sure.

I pulled out my cell and quickly shot Edward a text before grabbing the cheapest bottle of fizzy wine in the grocery store and a pack of plastic cups. He must have been waiting in a bar close by because I saw him climbing the steps to the hotel lobby as I crossed the street. His eyes made contact for the briefest of seconds as he held the door open for us both.

"Excuse me." I asked the desk clerk in my best attempt at a southern drawl. "My girlfriend, Miss Amun, just paid for a room here and I need to know the number. She may have used my name, Mr. Hunter."

The clerk checked the records before giving me the room number. I was careful not to mouth the door number back as he reeled it off, or look too delighted that things were falling perfectly into place. Edward stood behind me fidgeting slightly, pretending my conversation was annoying him somehow…all part of the act. His movements were being caught on the security camera in the lobby and we needed this to look right.

I thanked the guy and strode towards the stairs. Without looking back, I heard Edward making a request to be let back into his room, having accidentally on purpose left his key inside.

Taking the stairs as Edward and the desk clerk entered the elevator, I waited behind the doors until I heard them in the hallway.

"Yeah, the show was great. But I'm so beat right now, I'm ready to crash for the night. Thanks again, Sam."

I smiled. Oh, he was good. Using the guy's name made him more likely to remember the interaction. When I heard the elevator doors ping closed, I waited a few more minutes to allow Edward to finish setting the stage he'd partially prepared earlier. Finally, I stepped out into the corridor and knocked on her door.

"Angel," she purred. "I thought you'd changed your mind."

"Never," I smirked, walking past her into the dingy room. "I brought booze. You want some?"

"Sure." She licked her lips and swayed towards me, her arms moving up to embrace me again. I took a step back to keep her from touching the wig. It wasn't quite time to make the grand reveal.

"It's hot in here. I'm gonna go cool off." Picking up the bottle and cups, I opened the large window onto the wrought iron balcony and crawled out. She frowned a little but followed willingly when I crooked a finger and beckoned her outside.

Edward was already there, standing naked in the shadows beneath the fire escape ladder. I could see the moonlight faintly illuminating the muscles under his smooth skin. There wasn't a hair on his body, nor mine, for that matter. We'd both made sure to fully shave ourselves. There would be no stray hairs found in her room or on her body. Even our heads had been closely cropped. We were lucky our strong features could carry off such a severe style. I poured us both some wine and, as I turned to put the bottle down, I flicked the back open on the silver ring I wore to drop some powder into her cup. She didn't see me swirl the contents and had no reason to suspect anything was wrong as I downed a huge gulp from my own cup and grimaced against the taste.

"Cheers," she smirked, raising the cup to her lips and swallowing down a large mouthful. "Jeeze, that stuff's rough."

"Do you like it rough?" I whispered, tilting the cup against her lips to encourage her to take a second mouthful. She giggled and swallowed again. I let my free hand wander over her thigh, stroking up in a large arc from her hip up to her breast. She closed her eyes and groaned as my thumb brushed against her nipple.

Edward silently moved behind her. She was humming as I pressed the drink to her lips again and cajoled her to finish it off. Her eyes were closed when he placed his hands on her hips and began caressing her body while I stood back to watch. She was starting to sway as the effects of the drug began slowing her down and making her feel fuzzy. Somewhere in the depth of her consciousness, her mind recognized that the hands moving on her body were going in the wrong direction. Sliding her eyelids open, she saw me leaning against the balcony two feet away, the wig, beard and fake sleeve of ink removed, nothing but a giant grin plastered across my triumphant face.

"Angel?" she gasped as Edward swiftly pulled her tight against his body and covered her mouth with one hand.

"Oh, I'm no angel," he whispered in her ear as I walked past them and climbed in through Edward's and my room window. "I'm the Devil himself."

She started to struggle as realization dawned, but it was futile. Edward was strong and the drug was already in her bloodstream, slowing her down and making her limbs feel like lead. It wouldn't knock her out completely…just make her more "compliant" to our needs. I crawled back out with the gag and Edward held her while I fastened it in place. As her body relaxed, so did his grip. We managed to coax her into our room with very little effort and I scampered back out to retrieve my disguise, together with the wine and cups.

Edward carefully undressed her before moving her body onto the bed. For a while, we all lay together on the plastic sheet, him on one side, me on the other, with her sandwiched between us. I already knew he wouldn't have sex with her. The way these "events" were so well executed not only guaranteed his safety but also made them less frantic and sexually appealing for him. Besides, I didn't think he felt comfortable letting go sexually in front of an audience. She made some small movements, her head flopping from side to side as her eyes refused to focus. Edward reached out, stroking the back of his finger along her cheek and made shushing noises. She whimpered and the sound made him smile.

This is a precious time for us…anticipation, the chance to savor the moment, the calm before the storm. For this short time, we are one, connected in a way no two people ever will be. He glanced across her body at me and raised his eyebrows. Knowing exactly what he meant, I nodded my reply and, in unison, we rolled from the bed.

He dug around in my overnight bag to find the cable ties and quickly secured her ankles while I fastened her wrists in place. I won't take part in the actual kill. Participating isn't the same as watching. I might have missed some small detail and, besides, I wouldn't want to have taken the pleasure away from Edward. I'm honored enough that he trusts me to be involved in the prep work.

My presence reined him in, making him less savage. Moving to a covered seat in the corner I pulled a condom from my pocket and slid it onto my already tumescent cock. There's no need for me to be ashamed in front of my brother. I suppose I should feel mortified that he knows I'll be masturbating to his performance, but he doesn't judge. I made my first stroke as he lifted the knife, twisting the blade high in the air, the light glinting menacingly off the cold steel. He's letting me get my fill and building the tension. In that moment, I knew everything I am was accepted. I felt safe and, above all, loved.

My hand moved faster as the first spurt of red sprayed across his chest. I was lost in rapture, my otherwise vanilla existence melting away. This was what I lived for. I couldn't look away, not for a second. I stared so hard the rest of the room seemed to blur at the periphery, dissolving into a charcoal nothingness. The only thing that mattered was Edward and me and the red stuff as I hurtled towards my release.

Edward's bloody hand finally stilled the knife. It was done. He was kneeling alongside her limp body, breathing heavily. Killing took him to another place. It was somewhere different to where I escaped but, like two puzzle pieces, we meshed together perfectly. His violence and my need for the visual was a magical combination.

He used the tip of the blade to snap open the plastic ties and cast the knife to the side as he reverently picked up…Kali, was it? and gently deposited her in the bathtub. We would let the bleeding stop before we cleaned her up and moved her back to her own room. He calmed himself by smoking a cigarette before making a move to pull down the polythene from the walls and ceiling. The bathroom would be cleaned up last.

Edward finished in the shower and stood in the doorway.

"Your turn, bro." He tagged me as I passed. Hopping into the stall, I washed my body clean while Kibi's? empty eyes stared at me.

Cleaning up the room was getting easier the more we did it. It was almost like a military operation. Once the blood had stopped oozing, we hosed "K" down and carried her carefully back through the fire escape to her room and laid her under the comforter. Apart from the glassy stare, she looked strangely peaceful.

Back in our room, we unfastened the remainder of the thin plastic sheeting that had lined the room, rolling it up tightly and stuffing it back into my overnight bag along with the knife, cable ties, gloves, used condom and the plastic cups. Nothing would be left behind to connect me to the woman next door. While I cleaned up the bath and shower cubicle, Edward slipped into the clothes I'd previously worn. He pulled on the wig and fake tattoos before applying fresh glue to make the false beard stick in place.

I watched him transform into James Hunter and a wave of pure love crashed over me. This was my brother…the thunder to my rain. The one person in this world I couldn't bear to lose, ever. Reading my expression he stalked over and placed a single kiss on my forehead before slipping out through the window and crawling back into her room.

I lay in bed listening for the click of the window closing and the sound of Edward leaving through her door. The cameras in the hallway would identify him up as the same man who had followed her into the room earlier and he would be the one the cops would be searching for but never find. Mr. Hunter, a man who would disappear like smoke in the wind, was nothing more than a figment of our debauched imaginations.

My sleep was deep and satisfying that night. Being able to lie on the scene of the act was particularly pleasing. The six am wake-up call came too quickly, jolting me back to reality. I stretched in the sheets, replaying last night's events through my mind for the umpteenth time. Edward would be home by now, burning any evidence that Mr. Hunter had ever existed. I planned to meet with him tonight to dispose of the plastic and run through our stories. I would need descriptions of the drink he'd bought in the theater, the person he spilled it over and the name of the bar where he'd waited for my call.

I checked out at seven am after cleaning the bathtub and shower with bleach and a scrubbing brush for the second time. I was willing to bet this fucking place had never been so clean. But this was the one place where our game could be discovered. The body had to congeal in situ. We couldn't risk a drop of blood landing on the window ledge or the balcony when we carried her back. It would give our game away. Instead, I left the cold tap running all night, just to make sure any trace of her blood was rinsed clear through the plumbing.

Keeping a tight hold of my overnight bag, I collected my car from the lot. Last night had been amazing. I loved watching Edward loosen the grip on his sanity almost as much as I reveled in the fountains of blood. It would give me what I needed to keep going until we could start planning for the next time.

I stopped off at a service station and grabbed some lunch. Switching off my unregistered cell phone, I removed the chip, tucked it inside the sandwich wrapper and dropped it into one of the trash cans. Apart from the contents of my bag, it was the only thing that could possibly tie me to the crime.

Home.

The curtains of depravity swung open to reveal signs of normalcy the instant I pulled onto the driveway. Here was quiet, safe and boring. I ditched my bag in the trunk and painted a neutral expression on my face as I slid the key into the lock.

"Daddy!" my three-year-old squealed as he came bounding into the hallway before crashing into my legs.

"Hey, Jasper. Miss me much?" I inquired, trying not to sound robotic as I peeled his arms away to let me walk.

"We both did. Was the conference worth the trip?"

Bella…my wife. She's the person who keeps my life on an even keel by lending me a much needed veneer of respectability.

"Hey, honey. I missed you, too," I lied, pulling her in and kissing her greedily. She melted in my arms, delighted to have found such a loving and devoted husband. With my eyes closed, I pictured Edward swinging the blood-soaked knife and pressed my growing erection into her hip. She gasps softly, believing she does this to me. I don't correct her. It's far easier that way.

"So," she croons, her voice becoming heavy with lust as she strokes her hand along my forearm. I try not to flinch at the contact. It doesn't fit with the images of Edward's actions in my mind and sets my teeth on edge. "Did you learn how to catch bad guys?"

"Yeah, but…what if _I'm_ the bad guy?" I growl, bending down to nip at the tender flesh of her neck. If Jasper weren't around, I might accidentally bite a little too hard just to see if I could draw blood. She gasps before dismissing my comment as nothing more than playful banter, but I saw the fleeting spark of uncertainty in her eyes.

Jasper has disappeared, gone back to watching cartoons, no doubt. I think of the dark, red liquid pulsing beneath the surface of her alabaster skin and can't help imagining how erotic it would be to release it. Wishing for a chance to watch as it flows and spreads across her breasts and belly, the vision has my erection throbbing painfully. I give a low hiss and clutch her forearm as I pull her towards the bedroom. Her eyes widen and she giggles, thinking the glint in my eye is nothing more than animal lust. She has no idea the true nature of the beast contained within my soul.

My wife doesn't know about Edward; no one does. He's my deepest, darkest secret and the only person in this whole twisted world I truly care about; the one person I would kill to protect.

**A/N Peeps out from behind sofa. So, what do you think of serial killerward? Still hot? Part two is coming in a couple of days, have a Happy Halloween. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer- I don't own Twilight or the original characters. This is written for fun and not commercial gain, no copyright infringement is intended. **

**So, you've come back for more huh? Better strap yourselves in, the previous warning for character death still applies. **

**Thanks to my Pre reader Keye and my beta Rita01TX, you girls are the bestest. **

Chapter 2

Edward's POV

I watched Masen from the corner of my eye. He was sat at a table on the left hand side of the restaurant with _her_. She had a hand resting on the table top and his slid across to cover it. I flexed my jaw in irritation as the knife in my hand slid through the chicken breasts on the board. I glared down at them, noticing how the color of the meat wasn't so different from the color of her skin. Grinding my teeth, I imagined it was her flesh I was cutting into instead of an ingredient for the chicken piccata she'd ordered.

I didn't need to see it…this fake PDA. It made me sick to my stomach, the way she tilted her head and blushed like some coy virgin and not the whore who's only too happy to share her bed with a total stranger.

That stupid bitch is kidding herself if she thinks she knows him. He's a walking contradiction, a moral dichotomy. Everything about him had a flip side. He's the cop who boosts his own workload, the husband who helps dispatch other people's wives, the twin who's an only child.

Across the steamy kitchen, I chanced another glance through the serving hatch and caught her stroking a finger along his jaw line. I didn't need to hear her voice to figure out she was commenting on the thick growth of hair on his chin. He'll shave it off tomorrow but, since he booked the table here six weeks ago, he'd deliberately gone unshaven and grown his hair in case any of the staff commented on our resemblance. She giggled like a fucking schoolgirl and, after tightening my grip on the handle, I slammed the tip of the knife sharply into the wooden chopping block with a loud snarl.

"Fuck, Ed! You all right?"

Without releasing any of the tension from my body, I slowly twisted my face to glare at Eric, the waiter. His expression morphed instantly from smirking to afraid, almost as if he could feel the hatred bubbling beneath my skin like boiling acid. Holding up his hands, he apologized and backed away from my area.

A few heads and eyebrows raised in our direction and I glared back, forcing them to either challenge me or look away. No one ever rose to the bait. They all knew there was something off about me…that I'm just a little left of center. It suited me. I didn't need to try to keep people at arm's length; their inbuilt survival instinct naturally kept them away. Most of the time, I managed to keep my temper in check and everyone would probably put this outburst down to me having a perfectionist, chef's temperament. I pulled the white cloth out from under my belt and wiped roughly across my brow.

The inner tension was still building. I could feel my blood pressure rising, the rhythmic sound of blood pulsing in my veins getting progressively louder in my ears. It was an early warning sign telling me I had to get away, separate myself from the cause of my anxiety. If I didn't divert myself, it would only get worse. Soon, it would be all I could hear. _Boom boom…boom boom…boom boom_. Then, in the midst of the cacophony and with my grip on sanity at its most tenuous, a softer voice would dance through my brain. A sweet, gentle whisper I couldn't resist as it waxes in and out of my thinking, sometimes so softly I can barely make out its words of encouragement.

At that point, I would cease to exist in reality.

My consciousness and all control of my bodily functions would crawl into the small cavity of my head. Curled up, cramped and warm…like being back in the womb, I was desperate to keep hearing that voice, seeking out its lilting, musical tone, yearning to find the source. It's like a drug to me, my personal brand of heroin. My body performs on autopilot as I soak up my instructions.

_Take! Possess! Finish! Yours! _

_Mine! _That was the thing. Masen was mine… my brother, my twin, my confidant…MINE!

I sucked in a deep breath through my nostrils. The last thing I needed was to blow my cover front of a restaurant full of idiots by giving in to my inner Edward and ending the life of one of these losers.

"I'm going for a smoke."

Heads dipped again. No one had the balls to challenge me as I stomped towards the fire door with a thunderous expression on my face, stopping only to wash my hands and retrieve a pack of cigarettes from my jacket.

"Ed!"

Jessica, the restaurant manager, was already in the alley, sitting cross-legged on an upturned crate, flicking the ash from the tip of her smoke into the gutter.

"Jess."

I pursed my lips and felt in my pockets for my lighter. I had no intention of having a conversation with her…she was an empty vacuum. I walked past, intending to get to the opposite end of the alley, when she called out.

"You seen the guy at table 16? He's got that whole mountain man thing going on, but there's something about him. He could almost be your brother…I think it's his eyes."

I froze, eyes narrowing, my blood running like ice water in my veins.

"I'm an only child," I snapped, my voice menacingly low, even to my ears.

She shrugged and took a last, long pull on the white stick in her hand.

"I only said he looks like you. Jeez, you don't have to get all pissy. What, the tomatoes gone off or somethin'?"

She smirked and I swear to God, if I still had the knife in my hand, it would be buried to the hilt in the top of her head. I clenched my hands into tight fists, trying to contain my rage. My nails weren't that long but I still felt them cutting into the flesh of my palms. The pain kept me in the present so I squeezed even tighter. She had no idea how close she was to becoming a hot topic on the 10 o'clock news as she flicked the smoked-out butt onto the ground and squashed it into the asphalt with the toe of her boot.

"See you later," she mumbled and slipped away to the kitchen, leaving me alone.

My heart was pounding in my ribcage with so many emotions flooding my system. Jealousy for the bitch in the restaurant who got to play _date night_ with my twin, irritation at being surrounded by a bunch of pathetic fools, and anger at being so close yet so far from Masen. He knew how I felt when things start to crowd my brain. He could calm me.

After all; he's my brother, not hers. She's just a prop. I'm the only one who knows him…the real Masen. I have the pleasure of seeing him at his most naked and exposed, consumed by lust and need, eyes wide, mouth open, curving into a beautiful smile as he gives in to his cravings.

With shaking hands, I pulled a cigarette from the pack and let it dangle loosely between my lips while I fumbled to get the cheap lighter to work. One, two, three, four…_fuck! _It sparked on the fifth strike and I immediately pulled in as much as the freshly lit cig would give me. I needed the hit of nicotine in my bloodstream to soothe me.

Why did he have to bring her? My anxiety level was starting to peak, my breath coming in short gasps as I struggled against the tight feeling constricting my chest. Usually, Masen's thinking was spot on. His brain and capacity for meticulous forward planning left me awestruck but, for a smart guy, this had been a really dumb idea.

Masen and I deliberately kept our relationship a secret from the world. He said it kept me safe and everything would start to unravel if people found out about us. Because of that, I'd never been to his home or met his wife and child. I wouldn't go so far as calling them his family…they're just for decoration, like baubles on a Christmas tree. I'm the only real family he has. He uses them as a shield to hide behind and deflect negative attention. Of course, they don't suspect. Why would they? He's outwardly more sociable than I was, hosting barbecues and attending nights out with his colleagues.

I like my life to be simple, clean. I avoid people wherever possible. I live alone…well, apart from my dog Sam, but he'd never tell tales. Wearing a permanent mask in public and trying to remember which inconsequential detail related to which pointless bastard around me was so draining that I rarely bothered. Now, Masen? That shit just appealed to his controlling nature. He reveled in the skill it took to hoodwink everyone around him, juggling two disparate existences and never slipping up.

But tonight was becoming dangerously close to being a slip-up of epic proportions.

Today was our thirty-second Birthday. Mason wanted us to see each other and what Mason wants Masen gets. He thought it would be thrilling to know we could be within twenty feet of each other with no one any the wiser to our connection. He got a kick out of deceiving everyone around him so, even though I didn't see the appeal of the plan, I let him go ahead and book a table. I should've guessed he'd bring her along.

I'll admit I was mildly curious to see what the attraction was and whether I might find her remotely enticing, too. Did I have a type like most men claimed to? I didn't think I did. I suppose I enjoyed sex…then again, when I stopped to analyze it, I didn't know if enjoy was the right word. I liked the release it provided but I could achieve that alone. The more I turned it over in my head, I realized the mechanics of sex…having to be nice to someone and stroking their ego in the hope they might stroke my dick in return, didn't hold any appeal and, once it was over, I wanted my routine and solo existence back and that didn't seem to sit well with the few women I'd taken to my bed. They wanted to stay the night, cuddle, eat breakfast with me and, of course, there were the strings of unwanted phone calls I had to avoid afterwards.

I didn't like that shit at all.

I sucked hard on the cigarette and flicked the ash away as I started to feel the nicotine loosening some of my stress. I finished it off and barely stopped to drop the butt on the ground before lighting up a second one.

He'd told me a little about her. I knew her name was Isabella, but she preferred to be called Bella. She was twenty-nine, petite and brunette. They'd met nine years ago at a police family picnic. She was the sister of one of his colleagues and had offered him some of her potato salad…he'd said it tasted okay, but not as good as mine. As time went on, he realized she was passive to the point of being almost docile. Masen had a gift for getting his own way by manipulating people and he knew that, as long as he acted sweet around her, he could get her to believe anything he said. It was the main reason he married her. Her cooking and fucking skills were merely a bonus.

I'll admit, when he first spoke about her, my thoughts had turned to the possibility of a threesome. I wondered if she might enjoy that…if her brain would justify cheating if it was done with her husband's clone? If she truly was as compliant as Masen believed, she might go through with it, enjoy it even, but then what? Would it become a regular thing? Would we switch places for progressively longer periods, just for kicks? We could view it like a science experiment…the chance to see if she could tell us apart from the way we tasted, or how our fingers and tongues worked her pussy.

That fantasy evaporated the instant I saw her.

My eyes had been glued to her from the moment she walked in on his arm. In my opinion, she was nothing special. Open mouthed and doe-eyed, her constant hair flipping setting my teeth on edge. She certainly seemed to be dazzled by Masen, hanging on his every word like he was some kind of God. That was to be expected after all he'd told me but the one thing I wasn't prepared for was to see him acting the role of a loving and attentive husband with such…vigor. If he really was as indifferent to her as he had always claimed, he should win an award for this performance.

It made me feel uncomfortable and I didn't like it.

Maybe I was the one he was lying to! Could he be using me for his own purposes, encouraging me to do the deed he can't quite bring himself to? No…he's my Masen, my blood…MINE! I can't believe he would do anything that cruel to me. Besides, he's always taken such great pains to make sure our schemes worked perfectly and covered my tracks when I was stupid enough to leave a used condom at the scene of my second kill. No, he definitely felt it too…that itch that had to be scratched, the undeniable draw to see blood set free. I had absolute faith in him. He was my missing puzzle piece, my twin, my soul.

The second cigarette had worked its magic, settling me down enough to face the freak show again. Everyone pretended to ignore me as I stalked back to my station and, after washing my hands, I got on with my job in silence.

I tried not to stare at them but, once or twice, my eyes drifted to their table. One time, Masen was looking in my direction and our eyes locked. A grin flickered at his lips until he read my expression and became instantly concerned. It was how we often were. Closer than normal siblings, it was almost like we had some kind of mental telepathy. I could almost read his mind as he started to get flustered and excused himself to the bathroom.

It was no surprise when my cell chimed a few seconds after he'd disappeared through the bathroom doors. I checked the screen.

**You look upset. Is it because I brought a guest? M. **

I smirked. He was even cautious in his texting. I sent him a similarly ambiguous reply.

**They should give you an Oscar. It's quite the display. **

It was only a moment before he fired another to me.

**Please don't be mad. It's only for show. **

I hesitated before responding, my finger hovering over the send button.

**I'm stressed. I need to see you. Stay there.**

My eyes tingled at his response.

**OK, but hurry.**

We're not supposed to cross the floor from the kitchen unless a diner had specifically asked to see the chef, but I needed to be close to my brother. Besides, since when did I ever give a shit about abiding by rules?

I didn't ask permission; I merely slipped through the swing doors. _She_ was occupied with picking at her cuticles and didn't even raise her head as I hurried past into the men's room. Masen was pacing in front of the sinks, the fingers of one hand buried deep in his hair. As I entered, he rushed over and immediately pulled me into a tight hug. I sagged against the firm warmth of his arms.

"I'm so sorry. I was a fool not to know it would upset you this much."

He hung his head against my shoulder, his beard tickling the skin on my neck.

"Forgive me?"

"Do you love her?" I whispered, my eyes closed, dreading his reply.

"I love _you_."

His words were spoken softly but I could hear the panic in his voice.

"She's…well, she's…convenient. She keeps the house going, feeds me, she's…comfortable, like a pair of old slippers. Nothing more."

"So, why does it look like you can't keep your hands off her?"

"It's an act…for show. I have to throw her a bone from time to time. You understand that, don't you?"

I stayed quiet. Just breathing in the scent of his aftershave. It was the same brand I wore. I'd bought some for him and had it hand delivered. The fact he'd worn it for me as a small sign of his devotion touched me to the core.

"Please, Edward. Say something. I can't bear thinking you hate me."

I raised my hands and encircled his waist. Relief rippled through his body and he groaned.

"I don't hate you, Masen. I love you. You're my other half."

"Two halves of the same coin," he sighed, lifting his head and pressing his forehead against mine.

The door opened and, with my back to it, I watched in the mirror as a middle-aged, bloated guy lumbered in. He took one look at Masen and I wrapped in each other's arms and disappeared into a stall muttering, "Fucking faggots."

I flexed my jaw. I was looking for an outlet for my anger and that fat bastard was shuffling right into my cross hairs. Masen anticipated my thoughts.

"Let it go. You'll lose your job."

I screwed up my eyes and nodded. He was right again. I needed to quash my frustration and jealousy and put my faith in him. In perfect sync, we released each other and I slipped away, hurrying back to my workstation. If anyone saw me leave, they didn't mention it so I picked up where I'd left off, keeping one eye trained on the men's room door. Masen stepped out a few minutes later pacing over to Bella and grasping her roughly by the elbow. She looked startled, staring at the long fingers digging into her flesh. It was obvious he wanted her to leave and she put up no fight, grabbing her purse as he pulled her to her feet. He fished a wad of notes from his pocket and flung them on the table before marching her out the door.

I was wondering, with some measure of glee, if it was our conversation that evoked this reaction, until I saw_ him_…the same tub of lard who'd insulted us. He was staggering out of the door to the men's room with a handkerchief clutched to his bleeding nose. One eye was closed and already swelling and his shirt was splattered with his own blood. It caused was quite a commotion in the restaurant. His wife screamed and Jess ran to fetch the first aid kit while other diners looked on with open mouths. I don't know what Masen had said to the guy but he refused to discuss it or involve the police. A wave of love crashed over me. Masen had held me back but stood up for us all the same.

It gave me a sense of euphoria which lasted way beyond the end of my shift.

The next couple of weeks were frustrating. The discovery of two of our kills kept Masen extra busy at work. Of course, there was little for the cops to go on. We'd been meticulous in our planning and execution. Masen was in the privileged position of being able to tamper with, or contaminate evidence, if needed. It proved unnecessary and he was delighted to have his suspicion confirmed that the police were looking for a solo vigilante.

I wasn't worried about the investigation. That was par for the course when you left bodies lying around to be discovered. What bothered me most was how little time I got to spend with him as a result. I hadn't been able to text or call and had only seen him briefly once or twice in the last three weeks.

It was making me anxious and felt like withdrawal symptoms.

Before he came into my life, I'd been fine. I trusted my judgements and made my own decisions. Admittedly, some of them were impulsive and not very clearly thought out, but still, I was my own man. Ever since he knocked at my door with our file in his hand, I'd been slowly growing more and more dependent on the contact he was drip-feeding and now I was feeling like I couldn't even think straight without his input.

Not that I minded it, though…this entwining of our souls. Pink Floyd said it best when they sang about becoming comfortably numb. That was me before I met Masen. I'd felt little, apart from derision, for the people who moved, seemingly aimlessly, around me. They were boring and I never saw the appeal of sacrificing any of my precious attention for them.

The only time I felt anything more was when I held a knife in my hand. Then, I was ecstatic. The surge of endorphins through my system was unparalleled. Nothing had ever come close to the high it gave me. Sex and drugs were a poor substitute to the rush of ending a life. It took me to a trance like state…one where my consciousness left my body and retreated into my head as I gave into the frenzy.

As with any strong stimuli, it was becoming addictive. I craved the exhilaration…needed it and, like any other junkie, chasing the high was starting to eclipse my reason. It made me careless. If I'd carried on the way I was going, I would have been caught a long time ago. Masen saved me by giving me direction, a preplanned outlet for my hunger. He taught me to be careful, to savor the build-up, and anticipate to joy. He understood my drives and cravings and helped me manage my compulsion.

But, now I was being denied my share of him and was struggling to hold things together.

I'd called in sick this week. Feigning a stomach bug was always good for a week away from the kitchen. Instead of lounging around at home, I'd spent most of my time parked a little ways up the street, wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap as I studied his house.

I saw him leave for work and watched her take his son to a nursery, playgroup, or wherever the hell it was she dumped him for a few hours every day. I knew the boy's name was Jasper and I'd pretended to read a newspaper while I squinted through my mirrored shades at them. She walked him past the car, no more than a foot away. If the window had been cranked open, I could've easily held my hand out and brushed my finger tips against the flowing fabric of her skirt, but it was closed and she didn't give me a second glance. I couldn't see much of a resemblance to us in Jasper. He was skipping and jabbering as he held onto her hand and I briefly wondered whether he would grow up to share our fascination with the macabre.

By day four, the lines were starting to blur. My stomach growled and I struggled to remember when I last ate. It wasn't important…I was too busy cataloging the patterns of their lives. I made notes in a diary but, when I read them back, they made no sense…just incoherent scratches on the page. I drank warm bottles of soda I kept in the trunk and pissed in the empties. I hadn't been home in a few days, sleeping restlessly in the driver's seat with my head propped against the window, afraid in case I missed an opportunity of seeing him.

Masen had arrived home at nine and I slipped out of the car to watch from the cover of the bushes in his yard as he moved through the house. I saw him eat the dinner she'd left on a plate in the refrigerator and watched as he pulled her to him for a brief kiss. That made my blood boil and I had to bite into my lip to stop myself from roaring out loud. Twice, I thought he felt my presence. His face set like stone as he stared out into the darkness beyond the window. I knew that I felt him and it was soothing just to see his face again.

When the sun rose and woke me, I drove home on autopilot to feed Sam, shower, and shave before returning to the scene of my obsession. Just like Masen taught me, I'd been careful to change my location regularly. Parking in the same spot for days on end would soon become suspicious. It was a quiet neighborhood with only a few houses and they were all well-spaced out. While Masen enjoyed the challenge of fooling people, he wasn't so relaxed that he wanted them dropping in and out for coffee. If anyone did report me, my identity would be safe. I'd remembered to use the false plates Mason had given me last year. The numbers on them were genuine, belonging to a registered private investigator. It was one of his more clever ideas. If any particularly nosey bastard ever decided to call the police, it was safe to assume the cops would think I was working, maybe trying to catch a cheating spouse, and leave me alone.

I parked at the curb a block away and had only just slipped my shades in place when she walked past my window. She'd come from behind and yet I hadn't noticed her on the sidewalk when I pulled up. Frowning, I checked my watch. Ten a.m? That meant Masen would've already left. _Shit!_ I'd missed seeing him. Bella must've already dropped off Jasper and was walking home.

I slid from the car, closing the door quietly behind me, and followed her. Bella was incredibly unobservant. I like to think I would've noticed had I passed the same strange man in a car over a number of days, but she didn't pay me any attention.

The shapeless, bland, gray sweat pants and matching hoodie she wore suited her personality perfectly. I kept about fifteen feet away, at a safe distance. She never felt my presence…no hairs rising on the back of her neck and no icy fingers running down her spine causing her to break out in goosebumps. She surprised me when she didn't let herself in by the front door. Instead, she wandered round the side of the property and used the rear entrance. It was going to be another warm day and she left the door ajar.

For a few minutes, I stood on the door step staring at the chrome door handle like it might burn me if I dared to reach out and touch it. I knew I had no right to be there. Masen would be livid if he found out, but part of me was pushing me to take the step over the threshold and into his private world, just to see and touch his things. I wondered if I would feel his energy simply by being close to his possessions.

I pressed gently against the door with my elbow and it gave silently, opening his territory to me. I glanced around quickly. The kitchen was spacious and well-equipped with bright, shiny white cupboards and contrasting dark gray granite worktops. The chef in me approved.

She was nowhere in sight so I took the chance to look around. There wasn't much in here that pointed to this being his home, apart from a montage of family photographs on a pin board. One showed him holding up a newly born, baby Jasper to the camera and smiling. Suddenly realizing I had no pictures of him, I tore the image from its securing pin and slid it into my back pocket.

Soundlessly, I moved past the breakfast bar into the living room. Another soulless space. My heart was beating fast, the adrenaline flowing in my veins as I stalked through the house like a panther. Again, there wasn't much here that reflected my brother's existence. A newspaper with a half-completed cryptic crossword and a coiled belt rested on a low table. I fingered the brown Italian leather before slipping it through the loops of my jeans. I wasn't normally a thief but this wasn't really stealing. It was more like borrowing, just to get me through this dry spell without him.

In the hallway, I paused at the foot of the stairs and tilted my head. I could hear water running…Bella in the shower, possibly. Licking my lips, I placed a foot on the bottom step. It creaked as I pressed my weight down. Freezing in place, I heard the water stop. She was moving around. I could hear her footsteps and she was humming some tune I didn't recognize.

I took a step back, out of sight of the landing. Behind me was a closed door. I figured it would be a closet and a handy place to hide if I needed it. Wrapping the edge of my t-shirt around my hand, I twisted the handle and pushed my way inside.

It wasn't a closet. It was a study. His office. My lungs expanded, sucking in a huge breath of calming air. This was his lair, the place he came to when he needed to be alone. Excitement prickled my skin as I glanced around and noticed a desk and chair, a locked filing cabinet…interesting. I wondered if this was where he kept the copies of his murder scene photographs. I couldn't find a key so I assumed I was right and he carried it with him. I was beginning to settle down. The place smelt faintly of his aftershave. I smiled, even without being here; the simple knowledge of his presence had a way of calming me.

It was time to leave. I slunk out of the room and into the hall. I carefully tried the front door but it was locked. Needing to make it back through the kitchen to make an escape, I quietly moved through the house. As I stepped into the kitchen I saw her. She'd changed out of the jogging gear and was wearing a pair of tight black jeans and a blue, strappy tank top. Her dark hair was still damp and pinned up on the top of her head, showcasing her delicate neck. In this outfit, she cut a surprisingly attractive figure, a balance of dips and curves. She didn't notice me watching. She was facing away, peeling vegetables at the counter by the sink. White wires ran from her ears to her phone and her backside bobbed from side to side to the beat. It was hypnotic, the way she moved; more so because she thought she was alone. Without thinking, I took a step closer. Breathing deeply, I could smell the scent of her body wash and shampoo, a combination of vanilla and strawberries, I think…mesmerizing.

Without warning, she turned and her eyes widened in panic to see me there.

"Masen! Shit, you scared me, creeping up…like…that."

Her voice trailed off as her eyes scanned me from the top of my head, down past my face, to the unfamiliar clothes, not the shirt and tie she'd sent him off to work in, along my arms to my clenched fists.

"You're not Masen. Who are you?"

She pulled the ear buds from her ears and pressed herself against the edge of the worktop, her head flicking from side to side while she tried to formulate an escape plan. I'll admit I was impressed by how quickly she realized I wasn't her husband. Perhaps she knew him better than I thought or maybe the best part of a week spent living in a car, barely eating and hardly sleeping, had made me gaunt and unrecognizable. Then again, it might have been the glint of madness in my eyes that had her afraid.

Yes, that was her reaction…fear. It was rolling off her in waves. Eyes wide, breathing accelerated. These were my triggers; I could feel the excitement blooming inside as I took a second step towards her, my lips curving into a grin. I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the glass of a wall cabinet. I might have been smiling, but there was nothing friendly about my manic, deranged expression.

"Who are you?" she demanded again, her voice wavering.

"Edward."

The name meant nothing to her. I'll admit, I'd been mildly curious whether he'd spoken to her about me, but it was clear she had no idea who I was, so I added.

"Your brother-in-law."

She faltered for a second, but the proof was there before her eyes. I may be a little haggard but I was clearly similar enough for her to call me by his name.

"No. He's never mentioned a brother."

"Yet, here I am."

My tone was menacing and it forced her to sidle a little farther along the counter edge, desperate to keep some precious distance between us.

"You don't really know him at all, do you?"

"He's my husband."

I threw my head back and roared with laughter.

"That means nothing. Blood is thicker than water."

Blood…the thing that connects us both and makes us one in our compulsion.

It was pumping fast around my body, fueled by excitement, the anticipation of her next move driving me on. I was a shark swimming in uncharted waters with no real idea what would happen next, so far across the line Masen had drawn for me, there was no way back.

"I want you to leave. Masen will be home soon."

She squared her petite shoulders, trying to stand up against my six feet two frame. Of course, she looked ridiculous, like a grumpy kitten.

"Oh, he won't be back until much, much later. It'll give us time to get better acquainted…Sis."

"Stay away from me!"

She was terrified. Having this power over her made my guts shiver in anticipation. I couldn't turn back now. I had to see how far I could push this.

I took another step towards her and it all happened in a second.

Steel flashed in the sunlight as she lunged forward with the vegetable knife. I made a grab for her hand and felt the blade slicing deeply into my flesh. I stumbled backwards as a searing pain shot across my palm. Clutching my injured hand, I stared at her. She was motionless, gaping at the red blood dripping onto the tiled floor.

"Oh, God!" she whimpered, her eyes shifting to the bloodstained blade in her trembling hand. Her face was paler than usual and I threw my head back and laughed as I realized Masen had managed to choose a wife who didn't like the sight of blood.

I made a tight fist and watched as a few larger drops fell, splashing and spreading as they landed.

"Mason will be sorry he missed this," I quipped, swiftly disarming her.

She put up a feeble resistance as I twisted her around and held the knife to her throat.

"You see, sweet little sister, you don't know your husband at all. All those late night meetings, the conferences…he was with me, indulging in our little…hobby."

I pressed the blade firmer against her skin and she swallowed hard. I was swaying a little, feeling drunk as the rhythm of my blood pulsed hard in my ears, adrenaline and endorphins pumping through my system. I couldn't hold on much longer; the voice would be here soon and then I would have no control left.

"No! No, please!" she begged as tears flowed down her face.

"Shhh, don't cry. You deserve to know the truth. You see, Masen loves blood. Can't get enough of the stuff. It's what he lives for."

"No, you're wrong! He's a gentle, loving man. He's no killer," she groaned and sagged against my chest.

The sounds in the room were pulling away, stretching and warping as I felt myself letting go of reality.

"Poor, silly Bella. He's not the killer…I am."

I didn't hear the scream; I was already safely ensconced in the sanctuary of my head. I did, however, see the spray of red as my hand dragged the knife over her throat. While I was floating in a sea of bliss, she slumped to the floor. I watched motionless while she flopped around, mouth moving but no apparent sound coming through. Her hands flailed at the dangling ear buds as she tried to pull the phone towards herself. It shifted slightly and the screen lit up, revealing a photograph of Masen and Jasper smiling at me.

_Fuck! _Masen.

In an instant, I was back in my body and back in the room. Bella's blood splattered across the cupboards and pooled around her head like a halo as she lay wheezing on the floor. I dropped the knife and snatched up the phone, desperately scrolling through for his number.

"Hi, honey!" he answered brightly on the second ring.

"It's me…you need to come home. Now!"

There was silence for a second before the call disconnected.

Bella's eyes watched me as she gasped for air, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. I knelt beside her, wrapping a kitchen cloth around the wound, truly undecided if I wanted her to live or die. I was out of my depth and terrified of Masen's reaction when he saw what I'd done.

Would he be upset because I'd ruined his cozy little set up, or grief stricken to find the mother of his child lying in a pool of blood? Or would he be furious with me for being so careless and leaving so much evidence at the scene?

I heard his key in the door fifteen minutes later.

"In here!" I shouted, still cowered down beside his now motionless wife.

"What the hell are you doing here, Edward? Where's Bella?"

The words died in his throat when he saw the blood soaked scene in his kitchen. Mouth agape, he stared between me and the woman on the floor.

"What happened?"

He staggered towards us, falling to his knees. I could see the panic dancing in his eyes. For once in his life, he didn't know what to do.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my head bowed in contrition. My brother was suffering and it was all my fault.

"Edward, Why are you even here?"

"I was missing you. I'd been watching you come and go. It helped…made me feel better to see you."

The words sounded pathetic, making me a whiny child explaining why he stole cookies from a jar.

"I needed to feel close to you again and, when she left the door open, I…I just…I."

"Is that my belt?"

He pointed to my waist and I nodded, too ashamed to look him in the eye.

"I needed something of yours," I sighed deeply. "She caught me trying to sneak out and cut me with a knife."

I didn't tell him I could've slipped away if I hadn't tried to move in so close and startled her.

"She cut you?"

He sounded skeptical.

"Yes. She was cooking."

I held my palm open, showing the deep gash. With so much blood, it looked much worse than it felt. In fact, since killing Bella, I'd almost forgotten about it.

"So, some of the blood here is yours?"

He looked at the floor. It was almost like I was seeing the scene with fresh eyes and a wave of panic slammed into me.

"Oh, God! What have I done?"

I felt sick. Giving in to my urges had never affected me like this before. It wasn't for the loss of her life, or for how they would explain to Jasper where his mother was. It was the look of disappointment on Masen's face.

"I'm sorry, so, so sorry," I gulped, my chest heaving, eyes brimming with tears.

He was at my side in an instant.

"Shh, don't cry."

I was shocked when he tenderly brushed the moisture from my cheeks. What was happening to me? I didn't cry. Not ever. Everything was out of balance. I wasn't in control anymore. My breath was coming in short gasps and I started to feel light headed. Needing air, I tried to stand but my legs buckled beneath me.

"Edward, you're panicking. Take deep breaths and look at me."

His large, warm hands grasped my face and forced me to meet his intense gaze. I searched his face for answers as I tried to get my emotions in check.

"Wha…what…are we going to…to do?" I stammered.

"I'm going to take care of everything. Where's the knife?"

I couldn't remember what I'd done with it. Finally, I spotted it and, with shaking hands, passed it over. He grabbed up the kitchen towel from around Bella's neck and carefully wiped the handle with an unsoiled corner before pressing it against her palm and closing her fingers around it.

"Right," he said. "I need your clothes."

He was already kicking off his shoes and removing his trousers. I frowned, baffled by his actions.

"Come on, hurry. We don't have much time."

I did as I was told and stripped down to my boxers. I expected him to stuff the blood stained clothing into a bag for destroying but, instead, he started pulling on my discarded t-shirt and jeans.

"What are you doing?" I gasped.

"Put my clothes on."

He grimaced as he drew the blade sharply backward across his palm, producing a wound almost identical to mine.

"Masen!" I yelled, horrified at seeing him mutilate himself.

"Edward," he said softly as the blood dripped from his palm. "You know I love you."

I nodded.

"Remember…two halves of the same coin. I'll do whatever it takes to protect you, including taking the blame for this."

His words shocked me.

"But, you can't…I."

"We can't pretend this hasn't happened. Someone might have seen you follow her inside. Your blood is at the scene and I've made an excuse to leave work early. I've got to deal with this."

"But _my_ blood's here."

He smiled.

"Your blood is my blood. Identical twins have identical DNA."

"But, I can't let you take the blame! This is my mess."

I couldn't lose him. Not like this…not now.

"I can't take the risk of exposing you. If they know the truth, it will all start to unravel. Eighteen murders, Edward. That's the rest of our lives in prison. It'll be better for me to admit to one crime of passion. After all, Bella just rang me at work to ask for a divorce and they know I've been under a lot of pressure, lately, what with the new cases and having to work all those extra hours."

My mind was reeling. My brother was going to put his neck on the line to save me. I didn't think it was possible to love him any more than I already did but, at that moment, I felt like my heart wasn't big enough to keep it all contained.

"What about Jasper?" I asked, a fresh round of tears in my eyes.

"He'll be fine. Bella's father is still alive. I'm sure he'll look after him."

He reached across for the phone and dialed 911.

"You need to leave now," he whispered, "Go home and lie low. I'll contact you as soon as it's safe."

The call connected and Masen cried down the line, "Help me! She's not breathing! Oh, God! I think I killed her."

He sounded frantic as he rattled off his address and repeated it, "Yes, that's it. Erm, my name is Masen…Masen Branden. Hurry! I need help!"

He held his uninjured hand out to me and I took it in both of mine before turning it over and placing a kiss on his palm. Then, quietly and with his eyes following me, I slipped away.

I'd left him alone to deal with a mess that I'd made. My mind was in turmoil and I had no idea how I managed to drive home but I found myself sitting on my sofa with Sam lay across my feet, licking at the dried blood on my palm.

I thought about Masen sitting in a police interrogation room, the lies flowing from his tongue as he gave up his liberty to protect mine. I had no idea if the cops would believe him or what sentence he would get for killing his wife if they didn't, but the one thing I did know was that this was his way of showing me how much I meant to him.

I'd let him down. He always said it would be dangerous for our lives to overlap but I couldn't stay away. They say curiosity killed the cat. My curiosity had killed more than just Bella. It had killed my spirit and taken my brother from me, too…the one person in this world I loved and trusted.

Three weeks with minimal contact had driven me to the brink of insanity and now I felt number than ever. How could I possibly survive an enforced separation of ten, fifteen, or maybe twenty years? It already felt like a piece of me was missing.

Should I even try to go on without him? That would be the easy way out…drawing the blade across my own neck and letting to world fade to black while I watched the life force spraying out of me. What an ironic ending to my twisted life that would be, the executioner dying at the sharp end of his favorite instrument.

No! It would make a mockery of Masen giving up his freedom, leaving him rotting in a prison cell appalled by my cowardice after he'd made such a huge sacrifice.

My head dropped to my hands. What would I do when the compulsion to kill overcame me? I had the benefit of Masen's fastidious knowledge but would I enjoy it without his presence? Having him locked up, unable to indulge his passion, would taint my experience with guilt.

All I wanted was to be in the cell with him, close to his aura and feeding on his presence. I think I could cope then. Even if we couldn't satisfy our urges, we would be together.

The pieces of the puzzle began to join together in my addled brain. If Masen was sentenced, I'd do whatever I needed to do to join him. I'd make a random killing, something messy and in public, not planned and controlled like our previous kills. Someone who wouldn't link us to our previous victims would do nicely; maybe someone from work…Jess possibly. I could imagine slicing a blade sharply across her throat and setting her body spinning. The spray from her wound coating the faces of the wide eyes diners in the restaurant while I calmly walked to the phone, before dialing 911 to give myself up. Even though there was the chance we wouldn't be incarcerated in the same facility, I'd feel closer to him and I could always work on being transferred once I was inside the prison system.

It might even do me some good. Being unable to indulge my cravings would be a penance, of sorts, and abstaining might make the whole experience sweeter when we were eventually free to continue our campaign together in the future.

Yes, that would be my plan…it would give me something to look forward to.

**A/N Gah! One more installment to go...I'd love to hear how you think it will end, will Masen get off? Will Edward resist the temptation to make a solo kill? Will Charlie come storming in with a smokin' magnum and his twitchy mustache? Let me know what you think...**

**Finale is already written and will be posted in a few days. **

**Pleasant dreams. **

**Claire x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer- I don't own Twilight or the original characters, this is written for fun and not commercial gain, no copyright infringement is intended. **

**Special thanks to Rita01TX for her beta skills and Keye Cullen for prereading. **

**A/N - Final part guys. Enjoy.**

**Chapter Three**

For once, this place was quiet. No tortured, dismembered voices wailing in the distance disturbed my thoughts as I lay in the darkness trying not to move. The mattress was barely adequate and it had taken me a while to find a comfortable position, not to mention how any movement, however slight would make the bed springs creak. I stared at the cracks in the ceiling plaster. Most people would look at the fissures and their properly programmed brains would naturally try to pick out faces or patterns that weren't really there among the random marks. Not me. . .all I ever saw was haphazard chaos.

Eleven months I'd been here, in the Maximum Security Psychiatric Hospital outside Washington, rotting on the inside.

Masen had been handed a life sentence, subject to a minimum of 12 years, for my murder of his wife. His lawyers had pressed for a sentence of Involuntary Manslaughter, arguing it was only in response to Bella's violent outburst that he'd momentarily lost control, grabbed the knife, and slit her throat. After all, the murder weapon had originally been in her hand. Unfortunately, the prosecution weren't so understanding and argued that violent behavior was out of character for Bella. Then, of course, there were the two so-called experts who couldn't agree on whether the placement of Bella's fingerprints on the murder weapon were conclusive to her having made the cut on Masen's palm.

I didn't dare attend the trial in person, but I avidly followed every word of it on line. The urge to burst through the courtroom doors and spew my guts before the presiding judge nearly killed me, but I knew that wasn't what Masen wanted so I sat on my hands and chewed on my lips while I waited for the sentence to be delivered. If the judge believed Masen's version of events, he'd have had a much lighter sentence…maybe two to four years. While that was still far too long without him, it wasn't anywhere as devastating as the sentence he had received.

The following day, after dropping Sam off at the pound, I went to work carrying an eight inch French Cook's knife tucked up the sleeve of my whites. Jess got lucky…it was her day off. Before I'd even made it as far as the kitchen, Eric asked me how I was doing. Wrong question on so many levels. I let the knife drop into my hand and stabbed him hard in the chest.

I'm usually more of a slasher with my weapon of choice. You know…nice long strokes. But Masen would have been disappointed if my signature style had the cops linking me to our previous killing spree, so I decided to try random stabs. Eric was too shocked to fight back, his eyes staring in disbelief as I took out my frustrations at Masen's incarceration on his body. I managed eight deep wounds before I was tackled to the ground by one of the diners. Eric was still alive but died in the ambulance from his injuries.

I'm not sure the experiment was successful enough to encourage me to change my modus operandi for the future.

I was instantly arrested and taken to the station. I don't remember much about my interrogation or even my trial, for that matter. I crawled into my head space and stayed there, refusing to answer even the most basic of questions they put to me. I would imagine it must be what hibernation felt like…warm and sheltered, with only a vague knowledge of what was happening around me.

Although I was in a self-imposed catatonic state, the psyche evaluation concluded I was mentally unstable, possibly psychotic, most likely schizophrenic, and highly unlikely to self-medicate if I was placed in a standard prison facility so, on their recommendation, I was sent here.

It wasn't part of my plan. I was hoping to be placed with Masen in Washington State Penitentiary, not a psychiatric hospital in among a bunch of crazy people. I'd written to him… just a short note to say hi and that I hoped he was bearing up. I didn't need to sign it. He'd recognize the handwriting and the postmark would tell him where I was. He was quick on the uptake and would no doubt find some way to Google my story.

Over the intervening months the doctors had tried to mentally prod and poke me. I was just another run-of- the-mill psychopath to the staff. They did their best to get me to open up, their probing fingers feeling around the edge of the lid of the Pandora's box that was my mixed up mind, hoping they could find a way to pry it open and spill the contents out onto the ground letting them sift through the contents to find the key to my anti-social nature. They thought it would be as simple as finding the black box among the wreckage after a plane crash.

Idiots! I've lived with my malfunctioning brain for thirty-four years now and even I have no idea why I don't conform to society's normal pattern. They stand no chance, not that I was going to be even a little bit compliant.

It's not all bad here, though. There were some highly interesting characters interned within these walls. I met one guy who cooked and ate his next door neighbor's dog before making an attempt on the neighbor, too. It made my stomach roll just thinking about it. Maybe it was my formal chef's training but fucking dog meat had no place at the dinner table.

Another inmate went on the rampage a few weeks ago. He'd somehow managed to pull his bed frame to pieces and speared three staff members before they finally wrestled him to the ground and sedated him.

That was an entertaining afternoon.

And, of course, I haven't even mentioned the drugs. They were fumbling in the dark with that one. I didn't conform to the profile for being depressed because I'm not and I think I've tried most of the anti-psychotics they've got. Some were downright freaky, giving me night sweats and panic attacks, so I refused to take them. The ones I'm on at the moment just seem to make me numb around the edges and a little drowsy. I can live with that…numb is familiar.

Tomorrow is group therapy session with Dr. Newton, a slender man with all of 26 years experience of being alive on this planet but who thinks he has the insight and depth of knowledge to deal with a room full of people who would happily drain him dry as soon as look at him. In an attempt to make us think he is less wet behind the ears, he usually wore a tweed jacket and sucked on a pipe, channeling his inner Sherlock Homes. He's only missing the deerstalker hat. Moron! I mean, who the fuck smoked a pipe in this day and age?

I sighed and twisted my head on the pillow, shifting my focus to the small window high in the wall of my room. They don't like us calling them cells because it might reinforce a negative stereotype which wasn't positive to helping our rehabilitation...or some shit like that. I didn't remember the exact words. From this position, I could see the bottom of the full moon and wondered if Masen had a view of it from his cell? There were no clouds obscuring its majesty and I smirked, thinking of how it had been connected to mental illness throughout history…stories of madmen ruled by the moon, lunatics quite literally meaning moonstruck, even the old, fabled werewolves. . .snarling, savage bloodthirsty beasts who only came out to play when the full moon was in the sky. They could've been talking about me. I'd never stopped to check if my urges were linked in any way to the phases of the moon. Maybe that was something I could start to research, keep a secret diary around my cravings. It would certainly give me something to focus on while I was here.

I closed my eyes and reran some of my favorite moments with Masen through my mind. Usually, this gory little slide show, my version of counting sheep, was enough to mellow me out but, tonight, even with the meds, I felt a little on edge. I couldn't put my finger on it but something was definitely making my spidey senses tingle.

Eventually, I'd succumbed to slumber and chalked my poor night down to too many days filled with tedium not giving me the chance of burning off my excess energy. Maybe I could get out into the yard today. Hell, a little running in tight circles might help.

After washing and dressing, I shuffled down to breakfast. I ate some oaty sludge off my tray and swallowed down my OJ in silence. I didn't tend to mix with the other people here, not that anyone else particularly cared. Most of them were more interested in the worlds going on inside their skulls than the one happening around them. With my background as a chef, I was sometimes allowed to work some shifts in the kitchen. I was never allowed near the sharp knives, of course, but it kept my hand in. Those days, the standard of food was always a little higher than usual, although I had thought, on a couple of occasions, how easy it would have been for me to slip a little something extra in the soup, just for devilment. It could be amusing to see everyone rushing around trying to pin-point the culprit when inmates started dropping like flies.

So far, I've resisted the temptation.

I wandered through the corridors into the conference rooms and there was Newton, still wearing that pretentious tweed jacket, his dark rimmed glasses dangerously close to falling off the edge of his nose.

"Hi, Edward. Come and take a seat."

He gestured to the chair at the end of the horseshoe formation, the one closest to the desk he was perched on. I had no desire to be teacher's pet so I pulled up an empty farthest away.

Four other eager beavers were already there. Emmett, a mountain of a man with the brains of a six-year old, who was always eager to please and had a fondness for tight hugging. I didn't normally come within a ten foot radius of the guy, if I could help it. Tyler "swat those flies" Crowley was a real interesting guy who suddenly started flailing his arms around for no apparent reason. I heard he was a strangler. Perhaps the arm thing was a way of pushing the faces away. If there's one thing I've learned since being here among my own kind, it's that they don't all like to be reminded of their compulsions.

Rockin' Riley was up front, so dosed up it's a mystery how he gets around without someone wheeling him in. His hands were screwed into tight fists, clinging to his ears as he rocked and drooled in the chair. I didn't know what he'd done to earn a place here…the rumor mill hadn't reached me on that one, yet. Then there's old Charlie. He was a lifer, all calm and cool exterior. I'd never seen him lose it. Hell, I didn't think I'd ever heard him speak. Someone said he'd been here best part of thirty years for some crimes against teenage girls. He was the closest to me in mannerisms, outwardly calm and motionless in his seat but his eyes were never still. They flicked around constantly, watching everything. . .the teacher, Emmett and me, especially me. Did he know I was holding my cards close to my chest? Could he see the stack of secrets I was keeping inside?

The door slammed closed and loudmouthed bragger, Phil Dwyer strolled in to slump in one of the empty seats. He completed our little band of brothers. I never understood why Newton always insisted on putting out more chairs than we actually needed. I wondered if he was being thoughtful by catering for those of us who chose to bring our imaginary friends along or whether there was some kind of mind game going on, forcing us to make a harder decision than was actually necessary. I mean, why take the one remaining chair when you could pick from four, right? I let it go. I wasn't the one doing the psychoanalysis today.

This session was a virtual carbon copy of the previous ones. Phil bragged, Emmett butted in for everything like an exuberant puppy, Riley drooled, Tyler attacked those imaginary insects, Charlie watched, and I told lies in an attempt to outsmart the intellectual into thinking I was recovering. My goal was to eventually get myself transferred into the general prison population and closer to Masen. Dr. Bowtie wrapped the session up by saying we'd made some valuable progress today. You ask me, he was just trying to gloss over being as baffled by our failings as we were. Finally, I was free to leave.

I remembered my problems sleeping and decided to see if I could get a pass for the yard when I heard my name being called.

"Edward."

I froze in my tracks. That voice. I hadn't heard it in so long. . .years, and yet it was impossible for me to forget. It was like a lover's embrace to my ears. I sagged against the wall, my eyes closing as I drank in the mellow tone.

"Masen?" I whispered, afraid to turn and find him. . .not there.

I didn't like to think my psychosis has gotten so bad that my subconscious was pretending it could actually hear him. I didn't want to be haunted in the daylight by the conjured up ghost of my twin.

"It's me. I'm here."

I risked taking a look. He was there, standing in a standard issue cotton jumpsuit. My eyes drank him in. God, he was so much thinner than I remembered, gaunt with a heavy growth of facial hair, but his eyes still twinkled to see me.

"Two halves," I mouthed and he smiled broadly.

"Same coin," he said softly and my legs almost buckled under me.

"How? I don't understand."

He opened his mouth to answer but, before he had a chance...

"Mr Brandon, come with me please."

Nurse Esme gently touched Masen's arm and I ground my teeth in irritation. He'd only been here a minute and, already, she was taking him away from me.

"Yes nurse," he said, nodding slightly to me before allowing himself to be led away by the arm.

She chatted and chuckled as she walked him along the corridor. Like a fool, I just stood there, watching.

"Who's that?"

Charlie's baritone directly in my ear startled me. It was the first time I'd heard him speak. I frowned.

"His name's Masen, why?"

I turned but Charlie was already walking away. Damn psycho. I chastised myself for answering him. I must've been slipping. Either that or the meds were starting to loosen my tongue.

I waited in the TV room for him, pretending to watch the game with a couple of other residents, my knee bouncing while the excitement churned in my gut. He was here, my brother, my missing piece. I felt like punching the air and yelling a victory chant but I kept it bottled up. I was under constant surveillance, after all.

I felt his presence before I saw him, like a warm blanket being pulled around my shoulders, so comforting and familiar. He slid into the chair alongside.

"You have no idea how hard it was to get myself sent here," he chuckled softly, cautious of being overheard by the white coat brigade.

"Really? I found it easy enough," I whispered.

"Yes, but you have a certain je ne sais quoi," he quipped.

"You calling me a psycho?" I chuckled and he laughed.

"If the straight jacket fits," he parried, his lips pulling up on one side into the crooked grin I loved.

"I've missed you so much." It was like I could finally breathe again. He was my air.

"Me, too."

His hand pressed my knee to still its jumping.

"So, how did you manage it?"

He threw his head back and roared laughing. Phil screwed up his face and growled at him for interrupting his viewing pleasure.

"I had to act real crazy. Ate some bugs, indulged in a little self-mutilation but I quite enjoyed that. I stopped washing and shaving…oh, and I kidnapped a guard and threatened to bite his ears off if they didn't let me have a puppy."

I laughed out loud, too, picturing him in my mind with someone's ear in his mouth like some kind of morbid chew toy. Having him with me was better than Christmas.

"Well, Masen. I'm glad to see you're settling in."

Nurse Esme wandered into the TV room with the drinks cart. Her blue eyes moved between the two of us and she frowned. "Did you two already know each other?"

Haggard or not, she could see the resemblance between us but was either too polite to ask outright or too clever, knowing how twitchy us psychos could be.

"Nope," Masen answered, popping the "p" before giving a huge toothy smile that had her blushing like a teenager. "I've never seen him before in my life."

She shrugged it off and got on with serving drinks.

We stayed close to each other for the rest of the day talking, reminiscing and rebuilding our bond. It was the happiest I'd felt in years. Masen was there and I was whole again.

For the first time since I'd arrived, I went to bed feeling like my worries were lifted. Masen was just a few feet away and we would be together every day. It was a miracle.

I woke the next morning refreshed and hopeful but confusion soon settled over me.

Screaming! A high pitched female voice and heavy footsteps clattering past my door had me raising my head even though I didn't rush to see. One of the lunatics was no doubt trying to take over the asylum again. It happened from time to time. One of them would forget to take their meds and go on the rampage. It was a little extra side show for the rest of us.

"Call a paramedic," A male voice shouted.

I stepped into the corridor as four members of staff manhandled a writhing Charlie past me. His hands were cuffed behind his back and they each had hold of either a leg or a shoulder but he kicked and squirmed in their grip, clearly much stronger than his average sized frame should support.

"She's mine. He had no right to look at her."

I chuckled, only the second time he'd spoken and already he'd lost it. He bucked violently and one of the guys struggled to keep a grip of his leg. Esme was farther down the corridor being comforted by another small dark nurse whose name I couldn't remember.

"I only said good morning to him and. . .and,"

She caught my eye then burst into a fresh round of tears. Panic gripped me. My heart rate accelerating as I started to run. I rounded the corner and there he was.

Masen. . .lying in a pool of blood at the side of his bed. A stake, most probably fashioned from a wooden table leg, was pushed clear through his chest. His skin was already ashen and sheened with sweat.

There was a high-pitched, keening wail. I think it came from me. His eyelids fluttered as he suddenly lurched, gasping a lungful of air and holding a hand out for me to take.

"I. . .I love you," he managed before his head dropped back to the floor.

"No!" I screamed, a pain shooting through my chest as sharp as if I'd been impaled. I slumped to my knees and shoved the male nurse out of the way. "You can't leave me, not now. Please!"

There was so much blood. . .on the floor, the nurse, on me. His precious life force was pulsing from him. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't meant to die at the hands of a deluded madman. He was here to save me.

Tears stung my eyes and blurred my vision. I used my hands to try and stem the blood flow before the ambulance arrived but it was too late to save his life. The sharpened piece of wood had severed a major artery and he'd bled to death. I suppose it was the way he would have wanted to go but where did it leave me?

Catatonic was the answer. For a week, I didn't speak or wash. I refused to attend my sessions. I just wanted to waste away. But not even a full blown retreat into my own head could stop the constantly aching pain in my chest.

Charlie was drugged and moved to a separate wing with the other, more aggressive residents.

I was totally alone. The connection was severed the moment he died and now I was set adrift on a sea of grief. I'd heard it said that people could die from a broken heart but mine stubbornly refused to stop beating, no matter how hard I willed it to. Masen had saved me, knocking at my door 8 years ago with a file of secrets under his arm and we'd become more than just brothers We were one…two sides of the same coin. If I could have crawled inside of him and merged us into one being, like Jeff Goldblum's character wanted to with Geena Davis in The Fly. then I would have.

Clearly, I had no wish to even try and go on without him. Living in this mausoleum, denying my compulsions was only bearable when he was incarcerated, too. But knowing he was lying cold in the morgue made it intolerable.

I'd watched the kitchen staff for days, needing the opportunity to sneak in there unseen. Unfortunately, security was tighter than ever, the death of an inmate making everyone that little bit more nervous.

Eventually, I shambled back to group therapy. Newton looked delighted to see me again. I held back at the end of the session and asked if we could speak in private. He was delighted to close the door and sit down with me, finally believing he was making headway with the locked down psychopath. I humored him, speaking for a few minutes about how Masen's death had affected me. He was totally unaware of our family connection and I didn't bother to enlighten him. At the end, I grit my teeth and asked for a hug. The fool was only too eager to oblige. I wasn't so stupid as to think he gave a shit about my state of mind. He was too busy thinking about the plaudits he would earn for cracking the conundrum that was Edward Cullen. He was so preoccupied he didn't even notice as my hand slid inside his breast pocket and carefully removed his pen.

That night, I lay on my bed, eyes fixed on the small window as I rolled the cool steel between my fingers.

"Two sides…same coin," I whispered to the stars as I unscrewed the lid from the steel fountain pen.

With one finger, I trailed along my neck, feeling for the pulse of my carotid artery. When I eventually found it, I paused a moment, remembering Masen's face, smiling and encouraging me to be brave as I plunged the nib of the fountain pen hard into my throat. I felt almost relieved as the instant wetness proved I'd hit my target on the first attempt.

I lived by the sword and I would die by it. My life force slipped away quietly and I welcomed the shroud of black nothingness that cloaked me. It would, after all, lead me back to Masen, my other half. I was certain he would be waiting for me on the other side. Nothing as trivial as death could keep us apart.

We would share our eternity together.

The End

**A/N So there you have it, hands up if you shed a tear for Serial Killerward, and then felt weirded out. *waves like a mad thing***

**Any readers who have read my other stories will know I love to bring you something unusual, but this was my first venture into darker territory and I would love to hear what you thought of it. **

**If you've enjoyed it, you might like my one shot Metamorphosis of a Killer, it features an out of control feral Jake after he becomes infected by vamp venom which mutates his DNA. It's Jacob but it has a cool twist at the end. **

**Special thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed and favorited. It means a lot to know you enjoy my words. **

**Claire x**


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